The day my dad was shot in the dementia unit.

Let me reassure you before the story begins that everything turned out all right. My dad fluctuated from mild to moderate dementia. When he became confused, his delusions would frequently return him to World War 2. He lived in an Alzheimer’s/dementia unit, but he was quite high functioning. One day I got a call from my dad and he tells me that he’s been shot by a small caliber pistol. He sounded alright and in no pain on the phone, so I began to ask questions. “Where were you shot dad?” He replied, “I have been shot in the stomach but it is probably not too bad because they were bullets from a small caliber pistol.” (Well, I didn’t know what size bullets come from a small caliber pistol but since he wasn’t too concerned, then neither was I.) I asked him if the people who shot him were still in the building. “I think they’re in the hallway” he said with a very frightened voice. I asked him if it was okay if I got the nurse to come and check on his wounds. He said it was okay but that she should be careful. I called the nurses station and explained the situation. I said that I thought that my dad was okay but perhaps his description of being shot in his stomach meant that he was having stomach problems and just couldn’t report symptoms accurately. She said she would go right down and then call me after she checked on him. I got a call a few minutes later and she said that he seemed to be just fine but he had again mentioned that he had been shot by a small caliber pistol. I asked, “Could you do me a favor and take out the bullets?” There was silence on the other end of the phone. I explained that he wouldn’t rest comfortably if he still thought the bullets were in him and maybe she could just push on his belly and tell him that the bullets had popped out. She thought it was a great idea and went in and to remove the bullets. She came back to the phone and let me know the bullets were out and he was feeling better. At this point neither of us thought it was funny. Even the nurse was serious about taking out imaginary bullets and helping my dad. (Now I knew it was funny but at the same time, my dad was so afraid of the people lurking in the hallways, I wasn’t in a laughing mood.)

How did the story end? After the nurse left, he said he felt much better but he was still very frightened because the shooters were still in the building. I told him that I would send in the special forces and they would clear building of the enemy. I told him that the special forces were so stealth that he wouldn’t see them or hear them in the hallways. It would just be done. (I don’t know much about the military so I had to think fast and try to figure out something that sounded realistic for him.) I called back later to see if my dad was doing better and he was relaxed and comfortable. He felt better and was able to get a good night’s sleep because I had protected him as he had protected me throughout the years. Each time my dad would come out of his delusional state, which fortunately only lasted for a few hours at a time, he would say to me, “I think I was confused right?” And I would respond, “Yes you were, but you’re okay now.” I realized at that time that it was better to choose to comfort someone with dementia rather than to argue with them and make them wrong. I’m not saying we shouldn’t strive to get people more engaged in reality, but when they reach out and tell us they are suffering, we should do our best to support and reassure them. I love telling this story because it makes me think of my dad.  My dad was a wonderful person. He died five years ago this month and I would give anything to hear one of his crazy stories again.

Have a kind and respectful day.